


A little too normal

by killerweasel



Series: Crimson Splatters [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The answers you seek might not be the ones you want to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little too normal

Title: A little too normal  
Fandom: _Sherlock_  
Characters: John Watson, Jim Moriarty  
Word Count: 1,415  
Rating: PG-13  
A/N: AU after _The Hounds of Baskerville_ and the events of [Crimson splatters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/567050) and [Broken crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/567057)  
Warnings: none  
Summary: The answers you seek might not be the ones you want to hear.

John shook his head, trying to figure out how he’d managed to get himself talked into this. His original plan had been to go somewhere, hopefully a public place, with Moriarty in order to try and understand what the man was up to. Instead, he found himself in what had to be the most normal-looking flat he’d ever seen listening to Moriarty sing while the man cooked dinner.

He was sitting on a rather comfortable couch, doing his best to observe his surroundings. There was a bookshelf on one wall full of popular titles. Only a few of the spines looked worn. The rest seemed to be in mint condition. The wall across from that had an even larger book case, but this one was full of movies and television shows most people would recognize. There were only few foreign films John didn’t know, but they were titles he’d heard of.

Even the art on the walls looked familiar. A thought popped into John’s head. It wasn’t a particularly positive one and it made him uneasy. If he was correct though, it would mean he was getting much better at making deductions on his own. Maybe Sherlock was finally starting to rub off on him.

On top of all that, Moriarty’s personality had completely changed on the drive. His eyes had lost that dead look they’d had at the pool and the flat, his actions were more animated, and even his voice seemed less menacing. It was almost as if the Moriarty John had previously met had been replaced by someone else. It should have been disconcerting, but John had found himself laughing at the man’s jokes and almost enjoying himself.

Moriarty came back into the room and John had to smother a laugh when he saw the other man was wearing a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron over his tight black t-shirt and black jeans. The apron was splattered with what looked like spaghetti sauce. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, John.”

“I have a question for you, Moriarty.”

“If I get to call you John, you can call me Jim.” The smile on Jim’s face actually looked real.

“Right. Jim.” John glanced over at the books and movies again. “This is all a sham, isn’t it? Is this where you bring people when you want them to think you’re normal?” Jim’s eyebrows went up. “Because the things on those shelves, everyone knows those. Sherlock never bothers with that kind of thing, says it wastes space on his hard drive. Have you even read any of those titles or seen any of those DVDs?”

Jim chuckled softly. “Sherlock doesn’t give you nearly enough credit. I’ve seen enough of them. They’re all rather predictable and boring.”

He’d been right. “So the whole cooking thing, is that fake too?”

“I actually do like to cook. It occupies my thoughts enough to make everything else turn into background noise for a while.” He picked at a splotch of sauce on the apron. “Does he cook?”

“Sherlock? Cook?” John laughed. “I can barely get him to make tea. I imagine he knows how to do it, he just can’t be arsed to actually follow through.”

“You’re actually going to eat what I made, right? I didn’t poison it or anything.”

The thought had occurred to John that this could all be some sort of elaborate trick. “I doubt you make a habit of murdering your guests. That would get rather messy, not to mention be rather rude.” He sat up a little straighter. “By the way, did everything heal properly?”

“You mean from the torture sessions with Mycroft’s goons?” Jim tugged his sleeve up as he walked over to the couch. “You did a good job with the stitches. Given more time, the scar will hardly be noticeable. The fingernails grew back too.” A timer went off in the kitchen. “Food’s ready. Come on, let’s eat.”

\---

John leaned back against the couch, rubbing his stomach. He knew he’d eaten too much, but everything had been so delicious, he couldn’t help it. Besides, he rarely got to indulge himself when he was on a case with Sherlock and felt like he should make up for it. Jim was sitting on the other side of the couch, grinning like a cat that had eaten a canary.

“Did you still want me to explain things, John?” The smile grew wider. “Once you open that door, you can’t close it again.”

“If it means helping Sherlock, then yes.”

John became aware that Jim was slowly shifting his outer appearance. That dead look was back in his eyes. It made John’s skin crawl. “When you see one of your patients for the first time, I’m sure you can pick up some signs of various illnesses or diseases the moment they step into the room, right?” John nodded. “That’s because it is obvious. You’ve gone to medical school, you’ve studied, and you have the knowledge locked away in your brain. It comes to the surface when needed.”

Jim tilted his head to the side. The motion reminded John of a lizard getting ready to eat a bug. “I want you to try to imagine what it would feel like if everything you know, not just the medical crap, was constantly making itself known to you. You see a man walk through the door and not only can you tell he’s a heavy smoker, but that he ate a ham sandwich for lunch, he’s cheating on his wife with the neighbor next door, he hates his dog, and that he’s only there because his wife told him he should get the lump on his back looked at. You see all that in a matter of seconds. You’d think that would be enough, except your brain will not turn off. It keeps going. Image after image, thought after thought, references, other times you’ve seen the same thing...”

John shuddered. How on earth did Sherlock stand that? It was a wonder the man wasn’t doing worse things than shooting the wall to distract his mind. “Was it always like that or is it worse as time goes on?”

“That depends on how you look at it.” Jim shook his head. “You have no idea what it is like being a child who can do things like that. You’re ten years beyond what should be your peers and they don’t exactly enjoy what you tell them. Then it occurs to you that you can use your talents to get back at the nasty little twerps. That isn’t enough though. You really want to make them hurt, make them suffer. So instead of going after the child, you go after their pets, their siblings, and their families. Suddenly you’re not bored anymore because you’re doing all kinds of wonderful things. Your mind is constantly distracted and you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jim got up and walked over to the window. “Did you ever take things apart when you were younger to see how it worked, John?”

“Sure, everyone does.”

“You probably never did it with animals or people.” When he turned around, the smile on his face was almost manic. “You can’t learn as much from something dead as you can from a living example. Of course, it doesn’t stay living long, at least not at first. You need to perfect it, improve on your methods. Once you’ve learned everything there is to know, you don’t need to get your hands dirty anymore. You can have other people do the messy stuff. There’s always someone willing to get a little gore under their fingernails.”

John stood up as Jim came back across the room. “I think I should get going.”

“Already?” Jim started to put his hand out to touch John’s shoulder and seemed to think better of it. He rocked back and forth on his heels instead. “I warned you about opening the door.”

John moved towards the door to the flat. “How does this all end, Jim? Have you figured that out yet?”

“I already told Sherlock. Mycroft has known all along.” He gave John a very small smile. “Are you sure you want to know? It’ll spoil the surprise.”

“Tell me.” John set his hand on the handle of the door.

“It’ll end in blood, John. I’m very certain it’ll end in blood.”

John yanked the door open and stepped outside. He could hear Jim laughing as he headed towards the street to flag down a cab.


End file.
